


you were never a stepping stone,

by cryingat7am



Category: Free!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-02-22 15:57:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 8,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22585399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cryingat7am/pseuds/cryingat7am
Summary: a collection of (old) free! drabbles from my time in the fandom.
Relationships: Hazuki Nagisa/Ryuugazaki Rei, Matsuoka Rin/Nitori Aiichirou, Matsuoka Rin/Yamazaki Sousuke, Nanase Haruka/Tachibana Makoto
Kudos: 33





	1. chooser (mako/haru)

**Author's Note:**

> these are from 2013, yikes.  
> title from "harbor lights" by a silent film!

“ _You_ choose this time, Haru,” the brunet led with a note of exasperation in the near-pleading lilt of his voice.

  
“I’ve already told you, haven’t I?” Haru grumbled with surprising monotony, chopsticks rummaging around amongst the noodles in search of any possibly remaining bits of mackerel. “Whatever you want to do is fine with me.”

  
A sigh escaped Makoto’s lips, deflating his stature so it hunched over the _chabudai_ , arms folded across its wooden top. “It’s not fine with _me_ , though,” he mumbled into the crook of his elbow.

  
“Haru,” hazel eyes slipping back to the shorter, there was no helping the soft edge they took upon spotting his boyfriend’s find of a cube of freshly caught and cooked fish, the way it made the other’s blue hues sparkle. “I understand that you hate making decisions, I really do. But could you throw me a bone, here? I feel bad for picking all the time.”

  
“Why?” Sure there were no more bits of meat to be salvaged, Haru slid the plate towards him, offering up the utensils in his hand.

  
“’Why’…?” Makoto repeated, taking the chopsticks to stir the noodles and remnants of sauce around the dish on which they were served. “… It would just be nice to do something _you_ want to do is all.”

  
A frown creasing the line of his mouth even further than it usually was, Haru leaned forward, chin supported by both hands. “But I usually like doing what you choose, Makoto.”

  
Unable to help a flattered flush from dusting over his cheeks, he ignored the building heat to carefully shovel a moderate amount of food into his mouth, taking the time required to chew and swallow to regain what composure he possibly could.

  
“Th – that’s really sweet of you to say, Haru. But, I’m serious,” Makoto declared softly after the moment passed. “Relationships… don’t work that way.” ( _At least, I’m **pretty** sure they don’t…_) “You wouldn’t have to pick every time… Or even every other time. Just… occasionally. Occasionally would make me happy.”

  
“Please?” He asked, hands clasping together to rest against the bridge of his nose, begging both by posture and look as his eyes had instinctively widened to ‘puppy’ size.

  
The faintest of blushes tinted the darker-haired teen’s pale complexion, and a hand fell away to give room for his head to turn away in embarrassment. Although nothing had yet been said, Makoto felt as if his victory was assured by the characteristic averted gaze.

  
“… If that’s what you want.”


	2. next to last (mako/haru)

It was there. Even if for only a brief moment before the usual smile replaced it, turned towards his victorious opponent for a ‘congratulations’, it had existed—that look of disappointment. The furrowed brows and discouraged light in those mossy green eyes served to further reinforce his dislike of competitive swimming. Racing for the place of first not only took every ounce of fun out of simply enjoying the water, but forced him to witness the heartbreak when the person he cared most for hadn’t secured that position himself.

  
Wordless, Haruka stood from the wet concrete of the sidelines to pad quietly toward the poolside his friend hadn’t yet pulled up on to. He plopped down at the water’s edge, enjoying the feel of the cool liquid as it surrounded his legs up to mid-calf, and Makoto took notice of his new company. He could barely get his mouth open before a hand, slim and gentle, set atop his murky blond locks. Though it didn’t move, and though the expression always on Haru’s face failed in changing aside the vague worried brow, Makoto could clearly read the blue optics favoring him and what was to be found caused a dusting of pink to cross his cheeks and forced his grin to meld into something much more genuine. This in-turn caused a matching color to tint the smaller boy’s face as he ritually shifted his gaze away.

  
‘ _Sorry you lost. You’re always first to me, though._ ’


	3. caper (reigisa)

Most friends fall into a sort of… _routine_ , after so long. Haruka-senpai and Makoto-senpai spend Wednesday nights together, alternating between whose house plays host to the shared bath, Hawaiian pizza, lighthearted gaming, and late-night marathoning of whatever anime happens to be on both their “now watching” list. On Saturdays just before twilight, Haruka-senpai boards the train to Samezuka Academy, looking for help in English and indulging Rin-san in a cooperative first-person shooter title or two as thanks. Tuesdays, after school and on the way to the station, Makoto-senpai and Nagisa-kun go out of their way to stop at the café _Shiroitokuroi_ and order their usual beverages, catching up on each other’s personal lives while they wait.

  
For a while, the notion he really didn’t share any special pattern with any of his fellow teammates failed in bothering him. He had his own life, his own things which to attend. But, when it dawned on him that those matters narrowed down to reading and studying, that he really had no social life of which to speak, Rei began to envy those interpersonal connections.

  
His feelings on the matter must have been much more obvious than he’d meant them to be. One late Friday afternoon, in the midst of a break from homework, Nagisa declared—with a mouth full of potato chips—that they should start some weekly activity, that they needed a _thing_. Upon adjusting his glasses, asking what sort of _thing_ he meant, the blond hummed and concentrated harder than he had for the pre-calculus spread across the table.

  
A flicker of irritation sparked in his chest at this but before it could catch flame, Nagisa sat straight and leaned over their assigned studies, chastely kissing his cheek. Crumbs remained as proof it hadn’t just been his imagination and a dull heat radiated from the spot.

  
From there, things progressed. The next week Rei had gathered the nerve to return the gesture, and a week after there were fleeting lips on the tip of his nose. He often used to wonder ‘how’? How a simple wish to bond with the upperclassmen he spent so much time swimming with turned into _this_. But, then a reminder of just _who_ the breaststroker was popped into his head and when the aforementioned young man’s tongue buried further into his mouth, hands clutched tight in the front of his shirt as a pitched and needy noise left his throat, Rei found he couldn’t bring himself to care about anything except reciprocating.


	4. the form of dreams (rintori)

The butterflies previously settled in his stomach had escaped up into his chest, wings tickling his heart and making it beat erratically. Chest constricting in anxiety, Aiichirou gripped his schoolbag’s strap tighter, weight shifting noisily through the fallen leaves underfoot. Bottom lip disappearing between his teeth, he checked the time—still ten minutes before their actual meeting time—and his fidgeting only grew worse. It wasn’t as if this was Rin and his first time going out, it was their fifth, but who’s keeping count?, and they had done worse, _so much worse_ , in the privacy of their shared dorm room. But there was just _something_ about the prospect of spending time with the redhead that set his nerves alight. The temper couldn’t have anything to do with it as, though its brute force startled him from time to time, he was more or less accustomed to the outbursts. The unpredictability? No… The months spent together as nothing more than roommates taught him to plan for the unexpected, ironic as that is to do.

  
Maybe it was the lingering disbelief. It had been shocking enough that his long-time idol hadn’t appeared completely disgusted—or disgusted at _all_ , really—when he accidently confessed his newly forming _romantic_ attraction in a rush of adrenaline. Let alone when he dismissed the hurried apology that followed, or tentatively agreed to go on a should-be-platonic could-be-romantic study date, or actually _leaned down_ to meet his own lips…

  
“Oi,” breaking out of the impromptu reverie with a start, Aiichirou briefly wondered when he ended up seated on the bench across the path from their usual meeting place and glanced back in the direction of Samezuka Academy, the direction the gruff, if not fond, call had come. Rin raised his hand in a short wave, and he stood with a growing smile.

  
“Se—“ he faltered, suddenly recalling his… his _partner’s_ threat from last night of, ‘ _clocking you a good one if you meet me with that ‘senpai’ bullshit again_ ’. “… R-Rin.”

  
While one of his brows furrowed in what he could only guess to be confusion, the other rose in surprise, his expression overall appraising as he came to a halt in front of the shorter swimmer. A huffed sigh created a translucent cloud between them, and before his mouth could even open for a question there were two hands gripping his scarf and a pair of lips against his nose.

  
“Finally got it right,” Rin mumbled with a hint of affection in the annoyed tone, pulling away to begin the trek to the sushi bar they frequented, leaving no indications he had any intentions of waiting.

 _  
No, it’s not disbelief,_ Aiichirou realized with a pounding heart and burning face as he scrambled to catch up. _… It’s love._


	5. i'm-i'm totally all right! (mako/haru)

Hands perched on both sides of his hips, Makoto glanced up at the other boy perched on the ladder leaned against a wall, brow raising and head tilting with what Nagisa deemed his “patented puppy look”.

  
“Haru? What are you doing?” he asked as the other strung up another section of lights on the next empty hook after carefully ensuring it would hang even with what had already been done.

  
“… Decorating,” Haru replied flatly, not exactly addressing the obviousness of what he busied himself with, but avoiding the true intention of the question. That was as painfully apparent as the dwindling string of colored bulbs in his hand.

  
“You spent all morning decorating _your_ house,” and Makoto should know, he spent the entire time attempting to be of some assistance, his help only to be called for when Haru couldn’t manage with just two hands. “You don’t have to help with ours.”

  
And, for a moment, it appeared as though his friend listened, cautiously clambering down off of the metal steps. … Only to shift the ladder to the left and club back up. A soft, patient sigh left Makoto quietly and he closed some of the distance between them.

  
“I haven’t seen you eat since _breakfast_ , Haru,” Makoto pointed out with a well-placed worried tone, arms coming to fold comfortably against his chest. “You should go get lunch. A fifteen, thirty minute break won’t hurt, will it?”

  
Haru continued on as if not having heard, gaze unwavering from where it rested on the task at hand. Then, a short breath of, “Later.”

  
“Haru…” the taller swimmer drawled disapprovingly with every intention to mother hen his friend all the way into the kitchen. But he stopped decorating, barely noticeably stiffening, and Makoto held the rest of what he was going to say.

  
After a brief moment’s hesitation—as that’s what he recognized it to be—Haru’s eyes slid his direction, and he really couldn’t hide his surprise at the unadulterated tenderness in them.

_  
I **want** to help._

  
The look lingered a beat longer than usual, leaving Makoto to believe that there was more to it. Before he really had the time to worry about missing a part of the puzzle, the blue gaze ritually shifted away and the last piece fell into place.

_  
… This is my home, too._

  
“… How about when you’re done with this, we _both_ eat?” Makoto proposed with absolutely no control over the fond tone his voice took, or the tug of his lips into an adoring smile.

  
“Mm.”


	6. all aboard (gen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> from 2014! wow. before season 2 and way before season 3.  
> written to/named after "all aboard (barely alive remix)" by the brig!

The locker room’s loud, accentuated by the cacophony awaiting outside it, and Haruka can’t help in longing for the smaller, simpler and by far much more quiet club room all the way back in his quaint seaside hometown. Would the aged building and the pool it stood steadfast by even still be in use? The rebuilt Iwatobi High School Swim Club had been handed down to competent leadership once, but had Nagisa’s choice of captain been so trustworthy?

  
He can’t know—there’s no way _to_ know, and his thoughts are slipping from the worry, anyway. They settle on his once and forever teammates; on tired Makoto half-consciously relaying the shenanigans of his last shift at the children’s hospital, on enthusiastic-as-ever Nagisa gushing over the last thousand years of history of whatever country he’s in living _now_ , on Rei’s slightly borderline eccentric explanations of his laboratory’s current line of research, on—

  
The hand clamping down around the curve of his shoulder is firm, squeezing in both comfort and reassurance. Warmth seeping through the fabric of his jersey, Haruka glances up partially from the corners of his eyes and the grip is gone replaced by brief patting.

  
“The world is waiting and you’re here daydreaming,” Rin comments with exasperation, hand resituating on his hip. The grin that comes to follow is nothing short of provoking. “Fuckin’ figures.”

  
Unlike most other times, Haruka allows the irritation to spark within him—to spark, catch light, and burn. This is no time to keep calm and remain unfazed. “It’s time?”

  
“Almost,” Rin glances around toward the clock hung above the doorway eventually leading into the natatorium. He’s poised to say more, but the familiar, faint echoing of the announcer can be heard and the room grows a little quieter as others strain to hear. “…Tch.”

  
“I’ll go grab Sousuke and Seijuurou,” Rin grouses with a certain excitement buried in his voice after jerking a thumb the direction he planned to head. He watched the decorated back of their team’s white and red jersey disappear amongst all the others of varying colors and styles.

  
Haruka caught the clear, unspoken, ‘ _so get ready,_ ’ in the words and made to check through his phone one last time. Not for any new messages, but the ones he’d already read.

**From:** Nagisa  
 _haru-chan, fight!! it’ll be suuuuper late here when you swim, but that’s ok! i’ll definitely be up!! show the world what japan’s made of!!!_

 **  
From:** Rei  
 _Haruka, my colleagues and I shall be watching your relay at the lab—or rather, at the faculty lounge. Please do your best, we will all be cheering you on!_

 **  
From:** Makoto  
 _Haru… You’ve come so far. You all have. It’s really amazing, isn’t it? But I knew you could do it. Don’t worry too much, though. Just swim your best. Because either way, I’m so proud of you. We all are, of all of you. Good luck._

  
A very distinct sense of yearning tugging at the pit of his stomach, Haruka rose to a stand as he locked the device held in his hand. He wondered to the lockers lining the fairly newly constructed walls and stored it in his own, after turning to find the rest of his team for the day gathered and waiting.

  
Rin, spotting his return, flashes all his teeth in some impossible mix of exuberance and self-assurance. “Ready to show everyone what a _real_ freestyle relay team looks like?”


	7. happiness is calling (mako/haru)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> originally written in 09/15/2014  
> inspired by and named after "happiness is calling" by mophonics!

“Wow,” Makoto breathes, eyes slipping shut as his head tilts back. “I hadn’t realized I’d missed this so much.”

  
He and Haruka stood with their feet half-buried in the warm sand on the most familiar stretch of beach in Iwatobi—the one they’d spent years passing by to and from school, jogged along their last years. The sun hung high in the cloudless sky, the cry of gulls and breaking waves the only real sounds. School had resumed and they were relatively alone.

  
It was nearing a full four years since they had left their quaint little town tucked by the sea for Tokyo. Well, close to four years for Makoto. Almost three and a half years for Haruka, who made it until the winter holidays before caving in to the emptiness his best friend’s absence left. He’ll never forget his friend’s surprise of a bullet train ticket for him and all his clothes, always remember the pleasant shock on Makoto’s face when he declared he was joining the brunet.

  
They’ve visited plenty of times since—once over Christmas and New Year’s and again, longer, during the summer. But, now, he’s 22 and Makoto will be, too, in a couple of months. He has a degree in the culinary arts, his minor in business, and Makoto’s own are to do with teaching and sociology respectively. While he plans to build a catering service, for now earning a buck off freelance commission work, Makoto started teaching at Iwatobi Elementary the week before as a substitute with hopes for a permanent position by spring.

  
They are back, this time for good.

  
“I mean, I _had_ ,” Makoto continued as his lashes fluttered, eyes still closed, against the lenses of his glasses—university was the final straw for his vision and he _absolutely refused_ even the idea of contacts. “My family… Our friends… Everyone… Iwatobi as a whole,”

  
Hair still tousled by the salty breeze, Makoto opened his eyes slowly and graced the sky with a warm smile that effortlessly slipped into place. “I knew I missed it all, but… Not that I had missed _this_ just as much. Maybe even more.”

  
“Though, it’s probably more of being here with _you_ that I miss.” And though Makoto looks at him fondly when it’s said, he can clearly see the way his lips curl and brows raise.

  
Feeling the inevitable heat building in his cheeks he effortlessly squeezes the hand within his too tightly, brushed nickel of his ring digging into Makoto’s skin as his nails press and he teasingly starts to bend the attached wrist the wrong way.

  
As Makoto chuckles heartily and he threatens to go further in efforts to get his point across, Haruka can’t help but think there’s not a whole lot else he could ask for.

\---

It’s 8 PM, or just after, when he’s finished with the bathroom and heads for his old—… _their_ bedroom. They’ve had dinner, their fill of TV for the night, and with the leftovers put away, most the lights out, it feels a little like bedtime. He knows well that’s a couple of hours off. Even if it weren’t, he should still work a little on his current project for an acquaintance back in Tokyo.

  
And, honestly, it’s what he intends to make good on stepping into the lit space, door closing behind him. Preferably propped up against Makoto with both his laptop and drawing tablet set in his lap. But the said man is sat on the edge of their relatively new bed, bigger than the one that it replaced in the very same spot, staring very fixedly at the papers clasped in his hand. There are more spread across his lap, the comforter, and…

  
“Oh,” he intones at the manila folder on the floor which is most definitely there on accident.

  
“Haru,” Makoto begins with a tremor in his voice, his jaw working a few more times before the empty hand comes up to cover his gaping mouth. He looks up, watery green eyes imploring.

  
“My parents are giving us the house,” he answers swiftly though he feels a resurgent flood of joy in his chest at confirming it aloud.

  
“When – when were you _going to_ —“

  
His pause amidst tidying the various pieces of legal documentation that made up the deed is enough to quiet Makoto. He sets aside the small pile and revels in the way his fiancé almost instinctually relaxes as he stands before him. It does a little to quell the anxiousness pressing behind his heart, but doesn’t rid it entirely. He hooks a pinky with one of Makoto’s and it dissipates a little further.

  
“After we… finalize the adoption paperwork…” his gaze adverted down and to the side raises just enough to catch Makoto’s gaze from the corners of his eyes. “So I can… sign these as Haruka _Tachibana_?”

  
He sees the tears begin to fall before there’s any warning and they prompt him to remove the other’s glasses. There’s then a choked sob of his name, a head falling heavy against his chest as arms weave around him protectively. The front of his shirt feels progressively more and more damp and as his vision begins to distort, to blur, it’s really all he can do to hold on fast and card his fingers through Makoto’s hair.


	8. ... then (just) say you like me (mako/haru)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> originally written on 11/21/2014  
> written to/titled after "say you like me" by we the kings!

These days, Haru is stubborn in the morning… More stubborn than usual, that is. There appears to be no reason or pattern to the increasingly obstinate behavior, either.

  
It started suddenly after their return from winter break with his best friend refusing to get out from under the covers and continued sporadically. The next day, Haru took an unnecessarily long time getting through his breakfast. But then it was nearly a full seven days before he choose to putter around the house in nothing but a towel for an hour and a half longer than necessary. Three days later he apparently had a great need to reorganize his room before school, and four after _that_ they spent twice the usual time tending to the neighborhood strays.

  
Today’s poison was evidently the tub. Shoes and bag left in the genkan, scarf and coat hung above it, Makoto bowed under the _noren_ and found relief in both the filled laundry basket and the faint sloshing of disturbed water. That, however, dissipated nearly immediately after announcing his intrusion and opening the door. The steam filling the tiled room was thick, and the faucet still dripped. _Haru had to have just finished filling the tub._

  
“Haru…” Makoto begun, already exasperated and exhausted. This new unwillingness to cooperate was both trying and worrying. If it didn’t stop—or lessen, at least—soon, he’d have to confront the other and get to the bottom of things. Because after this long of… _whatever_ it was persisting, it was obvious there was something more going on.

  
“I’ve already eaten,” the young man immersed in the bath water commented almost offhandedly, as if it would help his situation.

  
“… I’m glad to hear that, but if we’re not going to be late—“ _again_ , his mind supplemented, “—we need to be leaving…” Glancing down at his wrist watch, all hope of making the bell headed the same direction, shattering on the floor. “… about now.”

  
A genuinely _interested_ noise escaped Haru’s throat, but despite the raised brows nothing more was done about the predicament. So, hefting a sigh, Makoto made his approach.

  
“I know you’re not able to swim as often as you’d like now that it’s winter. And, I’m sorry about that—I really, _really_ am. But do you think just once this term we could get to school before second period?” Standing before the tub, he ritually offered a hand to give his friend a chance to cooperate. And whether the cause was the apprehension he exuded or the other’s own defiance he didn’t know, but in the next instance Haru’s head disappeared under the otherwise undisturbed surface of the water.

  
With a dismayed cry Makoto’s arm shortly followed, and in the very same moment he went from submerged only up to the elbow to suddenly being head-and-shoulder-deep in the filled tub. Heat stung his face, warning him not to attempt prying open his eyes, and it was already blatantly apparent there would be no salvaging his shirt or tie. Yet, even fully recognizing they were now going to be tardier than he anticipated, he couldn’t find it within himself to be upset. Not with two lips pressed against his own. That fact failed to fully register before the time to pull away and resurface came.

  
But as the oxygen returned to his brain, chest heaving weakly and hair dripping onto his face—and into the water—the realization almost audibly clicked into place. Eyes wide and cheeks burning, he unblinkingly stared as the other followed his example at a much more leisurely pace, gaze determinedly focused on the far end of the bathtub upon reemerging. There was a flicker of blue his direction, and… was that a dusting of pink across Haru’s face?

  
“…Go home and change. I’ll be done when you get back.”

  
With how dangerously fast his heart pounded, Makoto couldn’t trust himself to respond with any more than a shaky nod.


	9. untitled (mako/haru)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> originally written 12/05/2014

It was all Haruka could do to blink as Makoto pulled away from the unexpected kiss. Even as the other’s face filled with innumerous emotions, more than he thought any human was capable of. Even as it filled with joy, filled with sadness, with relief, with fear, regret, shame, worry... He only watched passively, albeit a tinge confused—a little curious.

  
But then, as the silence prolonged and any hints of positivity began to crumble, Haruka’s chest tightened anxiously. _No,_ he thought, panic beginning to rise. Makoto’s looking more scared, more guilty and lost by the second and his throat starts to constrict. _No, no, **no**._

  
Even since they were much younger, he’s never liked to see the brunet upset. Whether because his favorite stuffed animal had been taken away to be cleaned, because a classmate they hardly knew was treated unfairly, or due to Haruka’s own occasional thoughtlessly selfish actions, it’s never settled well with him. Not the furrowed brows or frowns, and certainly not the way Makoto’s hair shadows his face when his chin droops or how his eyes lose their shine. It’s always made a maternal instinct rise within him, to do _something_ to fix it, because his friend really does look his best when he’s happy.

  
Haruka can’t always help, know what to do _to_ help, but that’s never really stopped him from trying, anyway. And right now is no different. He grabs a hold of Makoto’s sleeve before he can retreat out of arm’s length, meets his startled gaze and simply says, “Makoto.”

  
When there’s no reply but a nervous look—which scares him a little because why isn’t Makoto talking?—he pries further. “Makoto. What’s wrong?”

  
Now Makoto looks some part frustrated and a little bit like he wants to cry. But he does answer with words, he speaks, and that make Haruka feel a tiny bit better.

  
“What do you mean ‘what’s wrong’? I just—“

  
“I know,” Haruka interrupts, calmly and evenly. A part of him is surprised just how easy it is to stay level-headed with all the emotions running rampant. But, it shouldn’t be. This is Makoto, not Rin. And he’s always been able to keep his cool a lot better when around the brunet. “And I just want to know why.”

  
His eyes immediately track to the ground, look somewhere out of his peripheral. But he doesn’t pull from Haruka’s grip, which comes as a relief.

  
“Makoto,” he begins softer this time, hand closing around the other’s arm instead of holding onto only the fabric around it.

  
“Why did you kiss me?”

  
At this, he _feels_ the muscles beneath his palm stiffen and can wager it’s not too inaccurate of a guess to say that the rest of them in the taller’s body had followed suit. Makoto somehow manages in curling even further into himself whilst still standing, and looks impossibly more miserable. It’s just as he’s wondering ‘ _why?_ ’, fear returning to him when a possibility so simple, so _obvious_ suggests itself. Haruka briefly wonders how that could be as, if it’s really that blatant, why hadn’t he considered it already? But, he knows now’s not exactly the time for introspection, and so saves the subject for later consideration.

  
“Do you… like me?” Haruka asks gently as possible. But even that seems too harsh, as it has Makoto slamming his eyes shut and looking like he’s doing everything in his power _not_ to step back. He considers letting go, maybe the space would help and his arm is beginning to tire. He recalls the one real time Makoto ever did the same, though, and how hard the absence of his hand’s warmth was to handle. He wouldn’t do that to him. He absolutely would not.

  
The rush of waves coming to meet the shore once more reaches his ears and he remembers where they are. Outside, on the oceanfront route home from cram school. The sky was now dyed in a darker, more saturated palette than when he’d last paid attention to it. More clouds had drifted in and the breeze held a sharper, colder nip to it.

 _  
This’ll be our last winter here,_ Haruka thinks with not so much realization, but acceptance. And he’s not anxious, not really. A little, maybe. But he’s more than sure he will be fine, that everything is going to be okay because despite moving hours and hours and _hours_ away from the only home he has ever known, he’s doing it with Makoto. _They’re_ doing it _together_.

_  
I wonder what winter’s like in Tokyo?_

  
Haruka learns his gaze has begun falling when the motion of Makoto weakly shaking his head is the corner of his vision rather than at the forefront. Paying full attention to his friend once more he waits for any further response and isn’t left hanging for too long.

  
“No, I don’t,” Makoto says sounding so raw and strained that it actually hurts to hear.

  
“I _love_ you, Haru.”

  
For a moment he’s forgotten to breathe, _how_ to breathe more like.


	10. i chime in with a, (makoharu)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title and starter from i write sins not tragedies by panic! at the disco!

“Haven’t you people ever heard of closing the god damn door?!” Rin hisses with all the venom of a pit of vipers, standing much in the same, jarring way he slams both hands on the table top, rattling the glass vase of flowers among other things. “ _Seriously_? You said all that fucking bullshit here, _on their wedding day_ , within earshot?”

When the couple look to each other, an attempt at a subtle glance that’s very poorly hidden, he bears his teeth and no short of _growls_ , unhesitatingly thrusting a finger toward the hall’s large doors.

“ _Out_ ,” Rin snaps, and the few who’ve arrived early to begin decorating turn their attentions to watch. “Get the _fuck_ out. Now.”

He raises his voice to talk over the excuses he knows are coming by the way their mouths open, “I don’t fucking _care_ if you were either one of their classmates. I wouldn’t give a shit if you were friends, best friends, even fucking _inseparable_. No one—fucking _no one_ , you hear me?—says that about any of my friends. _Especially_ about Haru and Makoto on the happiest fucking day of their _life_.”

“Now, I’m giving you absolute pieces of shit one last chance to fucking beat it before I call my boyfriend in here to help me escort your asses off the premises.”


	11. and when you close your tired eyes, (makoharu)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title and starter from i'll meet you there by owl city!

_i’ll meet you there!_

Makoto re-reads his own message for the dozenth time, rocking on the balls of his feet as his thumb drifts over the lock button and his gaze wanders away, glancing through the crowds bustling around him as he tries his best not to fidget anymore than necessary. It’s only partially out of impatience—the sky’s beginning to grow dim and it’s mid-January, even huddled under all his layers he’s still cold. But, the way he bounces on his feet is less to keep warm and more out of a childlike excitement a man his age should not feel after nearly four years.

Just as he’s checking his phone again, no response meaning nothing’s come up to hinder the other, he feels his gaze inexplicitly drawn to his right, searching and—

An impossibly tender smile breaks onto his face, rosy cheeks already sore from the cold, but he can’t help it when he meets blue eyes he’d known anywhere in the world. The irate edge to them soften when they meet his own eyes, the grumpiness of how busy the streets of Tokyo are never disappearing but fading.

“Hey,” Makoto greets, and it’s soft and quiet but Haru hears him anyway as he pushes a warm cup of coffee just the way he likes it into his gloved hand.

“Sorry,” Haru murmurs, pressing against him in both an attempt to avoid the crowds and a sign of affection, sipping at his own beverage as his free arm snaked back around Makoto’s waist. “The lines in all the coffee shops are stupid long.”

“Gee, I wonder why,” Makoto hums with false cluelessness, nearly scalding his tongue on the mocha he’s got but caring very little about it as he drapes his other arm over Haru’s shoulders. “Thank you, though. You didn’t need to. We could’ve gotten something at the movie.”

“They overcharge for everything at the theater,” Haru grumbles, and Makoto chuckles his agreement.

And though they disentangle from one another to actually make progress down the street, their fingers lock together and find their new home in the pocket of Haru’s coat pocket.


	12. i can finally see, (makoharu)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title and starter from meteor shower by owl city!

_You’re right there beside me_ , he thinks, and it’s been a couple weeks since their disqualification at regionals. Everything’s returned to normal, only… everything’s _different_. He’s different, he thinks. He _feels_ different. He feels… awake. Like he’s been stumbling through the last couple of years in a blur. Which, really, wouldn’t be all that far-fetched.

But, he knows he must have changed, with the surprise Makoto expressed when he invited him over to study, to spend the night. With how he laughed his acceptance, the sound almost watery and… relieved. He knows he must have, because since the first time in… forever, really, he _notices_ his best friend. He’s aware of him, abnormally so, in fact. So, he can’t be blamed if maybe he pays extra close attention to the brunet, looks longer and lets his touches linger.

 _You’ve always been right here,_ he thinks, roles a little reversed as he clings on to the back of Makoto’s shirt from where he’s snuck into the futon with him.

_I’m sorry I’ve only just now noticed._


	13. mada minu asa ni (sourin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> titled after and written to mada minu asa ni by asian kung-fu generation!

‘ _just try not to get lost until AFTER you land, all right? i can’t come save your ass if you’re still in japan._ ’

He regards that last text with a frown, one brow furrowed lower than the other, and types out his very dry, very _sarcastic_ ‘ _ha ha._ ’ Because he understands he’s directionally challenged, and has recently come to learn just how bad it is, but he’s in an airport, the biggest in Japan and probably one of the busiest in the world, so he really doubts anything horrible will go wrong with all the signs there are posted. Let alone all the staff meandering around that, worst comes to worst, he’ll ask to be point the right direction.

‘ _thanks for the concern, but I’ll be fine, Mom_ ’

(Sousuke won’t mention how long it’d taken him to find the right luggage check-in, or how he continually passed by restrooms when looking for one and ended up clear on the other side of the airport.)

\---

In the end, he mentions it. It’s a mistake, in the heat of the moment when Rin’s helping him with his suitcase and they’re headed for the parking garage. He couldn’t help it, with his stupid, overly-worried boyfriend coming up with all sorts of ridiculously bizarre scenarios. It seemed in his best interest to point out what _had_ happened hadn’t even been _half_ as bad and that’s when Rin came to immediate stop. And he ran bodily into him.

“I knew it! I fuckin’ – _ugh_ ,” Rin groans loudly, shoving a hand back through his hair. His other latches onto his wrist, tightly, and begins veritably dragging him through the airport. Sousuke catches the eye of some stranger, who looks alarmed by both what’s going on and the eye contact, and the tall ex-swimmer just shrugs.

“ _God_ , you can’t go _anywhere_! You need, like, a god damn dog collar or something. ‘If lost, please call XXX-XXXX’. I fuckin’ swear…”

“Woof,” he inputs flatly, not bothering to fight the smirk that twitches onto his lips as he feels nails dig into his skin.


	14. red with jealousy (makoharu [one-sided?])

Haruka wants to rip the red, plaid flannel off Makoto. Not in the sexy way, the sexy way requires that they even have sex and they don’t, they’ve not even dated and they’re not in love which they’ll never be ( _not **both** of them, no_). He wants to tear the shirt off his best friend out of low-seated irritation. Even if it’s not at all a bad look, when has Makoto _ever_ worn red?

His annoyed stare’s not gone unnoticed. Usually Haruka’s good at pulling back before he’s noticed but what snaps him from the angry reverie and digging his nails into the wood of his pencil is a concerned, “… Haru? Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” is what he mutters, turning away quickly with heat in his cheeks as he scribbles down bullshit in the margins for his homework’s questions just to look busy.

“That didn’t look like nothing,” Makoto says with controlled exasperation as he lowers his own pencil. “What’s wrong?”

Haruka heaves a long-suffering sigh, pillowing his chin in the cradle of his palm and looks the direction completely opposite of Makoto. Makoto’s silence is patient, but expectant. He’s never pushed hard when worried over others. Their friends, even. But Haruka supposes it comes with the childhood best friend territory. Their fight on the cusp of nationals helped, too, probably. Helped Makoto, at least; it gave Haruka more trouble.

“When’d you get the shirt?” Haruka finally asks after a long, hard struggle with his natural built-in resilience to actually talk out things that rub him the wrong way.

He’s still not facing Makoto, but hears him shift. Knows he’s relaxed, relieved with the breath he hears released.

“Oh, just before we left Iwatobi,” Makoto explains and Haruka almost nearly cracks a damn grin, the lift of Makoto’s brows are _audible_ in his tone of voice. “Or, well, just before Rin left, I guess. I’d mentioned needing to get new clothes for college, and he practically begged to go with. Not that he really needed to go that far, but, you know. It _is_ Rin.”

“I don’t remember this.” Haruka brings up, facing Makoto once more so his offense is _very_ obvious. They’ve always gone out together, regardless of the errand. At least, Makoto’s always invited him.

“When I asked if you wanted to come along you replied, ‘god, no’.” Makoto says clearly very unimpressed.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh’.” Makoto’s brief, shallow irritation fades quickly as it came, and he’s back to his default setting of quietly concerned mother hen. “What’s got you so mad about the shirt, though? Is there something _wrong_ with it?”

_It’s red. When have you ever worn red? Is this a new thing? Is it a change? Is it temporary, or permanent? Are **you** changing? Please, don’t, you can’t, everything else has changed and you’ve never— You’ve always—_

“No, nothing,” Haruka says, tries hard not to mumble like he wants to, and turns back to the worksheets on the table with fingers back in his hair as his temple rests in his palm. “Just hadn’t known about it.”


	15. snowed in (makoharu)

The doors out to his balcony glow soft, white. Freshly fallen snow filters the harsh yellow, and the smattering of clouds certainly do their part. It’s beautiful, certainly.

But he’s cold and, really. When will Haru get back from his shower? Makoto’s not one to want pampering, doesn’t ordinarily know how to even handle it. His throat’s still sore, though, probably even worse off after the misuse it went through, and the dull throb in his hips back that up.

Why’d he let Haru come over yesterday, even? Sick over holiday break, he should’ve denied his boyfriend. Should’ve. The cold medicine messes with his judgment. As is obvious by how adamant he had been that a solid lay would cure him no problem.

Stupid.

(Haru’s back only moments later, only dressed in a towel and ushering him up, out of bed. Checks his temperature, offers a round of painkillers. Then they’re in the bathroom, still all steamed up, and Haru helps him bathe. Keeps him from taking tumbles or drifting off and earns himself another Best Boyfriend Award while he’s at it.)


	16. memory (makoharu)

There are no stars in Tokyo. Not even in the depths of the darkest night. The city never sleeps, never puts out its lights to let the ones above shine. It thinks it’s bigger than them, the stars. Humans think themselves larger than the cosmos, more important.

But the lights all strung up through the barren branches of the park’s trees feel a lot like a man-made galaxy. It’s cold enough he’d believe they’re in space. He’s weightless enough to be convinced.

“I know, we… we haven’t been dating that long. Maybe I’m really jumping the gun, here. But… I’ve known you my entire life, and I. … You’re it for me, Haru. There’s… there’s just no one else I could want more.”

Their palms press flush again, finger tips pink from the chill, and the warm band digs into his skin like a reminder.

Forehead rested against his, Haruka’s the only one who gets to see this. How open and vulnerable Makoto looks. The glassiness of his green eyes, the nearly desperate pinch of his brows, and the way his chapped lips tremble ever so slightly.

“Please be my forever?”

Haruka waits only a beat. He’s then lifting his chin, brushing their noses together, reveling in the broken and watery laugh Makoto chokes out.

“Not your eternity?” Haruka asks, a ghost of a smirk growing.

And Makoto amends, “However long you’ll have me.”


	17. home (makoharu)

The pain in his neck immediately evident, Makoto’s lashes flutter as his eyes open long enough to consider the ceiling before they slip back shut. Sleep burns in them but he already knows he won’t be drifting back off anytime soon. For all intensive purposes he’s awake for the long-haul.

Which is a shame. That’d been such a terrible nap.

From his head to upper back he’s sore. He vividly remembers waking to shift what he could, too, so it isn’t as if he had stayed asleep the whole…

Blinding swatting to the side, his fingers hit the table. He fumbles along it until he makes contact with the tough case of his phone, and the practically dead weight atop him stirs, grumbles low in his throat. Nothing more happens.

It’s 2, or just after. He hadn’t stayed asleep the whole 3 hours, almost, they’d been here. Makoto thinks he’s relieved, actually. He can get up, work out the muscles tense from making the mistake of sleeping on the couch, hope food or drink will help this headache and if not? Painkillers.

“Haru,” Makoto mumbles, voice rough. His arm drops off the couch, knuckles resting against the cool floor and phone barely in his hold anymore. “Mmh, Haru. I gotta get up, okay?”

A hand sliding further up under his shirt and face pressing deeper into his chest is answer enough. Haru’s awake, functional and able to move all on his own. But he won’t. Much to everyone’s disbelief he’s always been a touch on the clingy side, and being drowsy only multiples that tenfold.

He’ll have to move his fiancé himself.

Huffing a soft breath out from his nose, he rises on an elbow, phone left on the floor, and begins the slow process of carefully extracting Haru. As expected, he’s putting up a fight. But Haru isn’t quite as present as he made the mistake of assuming.

Because Haru’s leg moves, the one trapped between his own. He thinks, maybe, it’s to hook around his hip and keep him prisoner for longer. Or even for less innocent reasons. Whatever the intent, though, the movement lacks control and it’s when a knee crashes into his balls he figures, yeah. Haru’s not actually conscious.

Well, the discomfort of sleeping wrong is gone.

(He won’t be getting up for a while, now, though.)


	18. once upon a time (makoharu)

“—You know, they really seem to want to meet Rin,” is when Haruka finds himself zoning back in to Makoto’s laminations. He silently curses himself. He’s _supposed_ to be getting better at… well, everything. Paying better attention, and paying better attention to _Makoto_ most of all. It’s something he’d resolved to start doing that first night of their training camp, Rin’s drama over prefecturals interrupting those plans briefly before he was able to set himself back on track.

He hates admitting it, even just in his own head. That it took a near-drowning for him to notice his childhood best friend in high relief. Even more embarrassing is it’s not the first time. He’d been first snapped back into reality by Mrs. Tachibana’s forcedly calm but obviously frightened voice over the phone the spring before he turned 14. Then, too, he could have been too late to really _see_ Makoto.

Haruka thinks that might be worse. Having regressed and needing a second reminder.

“—that I had friends other than just you as a kid,” Makoto chuckles warmly, and it only makes the want to slap himself rise within him. He tuned out. _Again_. His fingers twitch.

“What about Rin and only having me as a friend?” Haruka asks, mumbling because he’s ashamed it’s this hard for him to hang onto his best friend’s words. _His best friend’s_! He grasps on to the strap of his bag.

Despite having blatantly paid no attention to the conversation, lack thereof really, Makoto perks, brightens in the most subtle and blinding way he tries so hard to hide rather than looking disappointed or exasperated. Because it’s rare, they both know it’s so rare, for Haruka to actively show interest in anything outside his own little world.

He hopes to change that frequency as he intently listens to the brunet rehash his whole story.


	19. core (makoharu)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *warning for alcohol, vomit, and one f-bomb

The bricks of the wall press against his ass as he leans back on it, bent forward with hands on his knees. The building behind them practically vibrates; he still feels the bass rattle his bones as the muffled music is still plenty loud out here.

“Why did he want to spend his break here,” Haruka grouses, swallowing hard. He grimaces, a hand darting up to cover his mouth with the back of it. He hardly drank. He’s not a fan, and he had volunteered to drive. A poor attempt at giving Makoto a chance to let lose—his fiancé enjoyed it, socially drinking, but remained very adamantly against it tonight for whatever reason. The can or two of beer isn’t causing the problems. It’d been the lights, the mixture of strobes and overpowering electronic music. The oncoming headache and the heat and humidity characteristic of clubs hadn’t mixed well. “Why’d Nagisa want to come clubbing in… ugh, Tokyo.”

Other hand back against the brick wall to guide him, Haruka sinks down onto his knees. The pavement is dirty, litter everywhere, and these jeans are new and too tight to be doing this in. But he swore bile stung at the back of his throat and standing wouldn’t make the nausea dissipate.

“Oh, Haru,” Makoto sighs softly in empathy, down on the ground right next to him hardly a beat later. There’s rustling, then an arm’s around his back, hand stroking up and down it slowly. Another comes up to wipe the sweat from his face with what Haruka recognizes to be the over shirt the other had been wearing. “I _told_ you to turn him down. You could’ve stayed home, we both could have. He’s a big boy now.”

“’S been a while since. Since…” Haruka trails off, hand tighter over his mouth as his lips press together. He doesn’t like puking. Hasn’t done it in eight years. Usually he can always prevent it with either tea, crackers, or some mix of the two. The last time he had even vomited was only because of a stomach virus, and how can you really stop that? “Thought I’d be f… fi… _fuck._ ”


End file.
